All Good Things In Moderation (Unless You're A Warlock!)
by Tshirtgun
Summary: When Merlin, Arthur, and the knights go to the tavern for some much-deserved R&R, they run into a problem - Merlin seems to be immune to mead! Nothing naughty, just some Merthur bromance and buddy!knights. One-shot. My first fic, so be gentle!


Author's Note: So, this is my first Merlin story, or fanfic of any kind, though I've read a _lot_. I don't have a beta, or even anyone to bounce ideas off, so I hope this doesn't suck. I feel pretty confident that it doesn't, but I guess only time will tell. There are some adult themes, but just heavy-ish drinking of adult beverages - no slash, all bromance.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of the associated characters. They belong to Shine and the BBC.

"Merlin!" called Gwaine across the training field, "Come with us to the tavern tonight!"

"No, Gwaine, you know I can't, I'll be tending to Arthur! That is, you know, my job? I can't just go running off to the tavern every night like _some_ people."

"But he's coming, too," said Gwaine, sounding confused, "He didn't tell you?"

"He's - _what_?!" spluttered Merlin, "He _never_ goes to the tavern, you're trying to trick me!"

"I would never! He said he'd come, I swear it, Merlin! On my honor!"

Merlin scoffed. "_Your_ honor? So it _is_ a trick!"

"It's not," came a voice from directly behind Merlin's shoulder. Arthur, slightly sweaty from his training and the heat of the day, held out his mace to Merlin, who took it and narrowed his eyes at the prince.

"You _never_ go to the tavern," stated Merlin, pausing for a moment before he remembered to say, "Sire."

"Yes, well, I'm going today. After all the magical attacks we've fought off recently, I'm sorely in need of a relaxing night off," stated the prince, "and so is everyone else."

"Even me?" asked Merlin hopefully.

Arthur laughed loudly, clapping Merlin on the shoulder, "Of course not, _Mer_lin! Who do you think will be dragging us all back to our chambers at the end of the night?"

Unseen by the warlock, Arthur winked at Gwaine, who shook his head and laughed quietly. Merlin looked crestfallen. He had been excited to go with his friends to have a good time, and even if the knights couldn't be told yet, he knew Arthur knew that he had fought as hard as anyone during the recent battles. He supposed the prince thought it would be too suspicious to let him celebrate with them, so it looked as if instead, he would be hanging around in the tavern, not being allowed to drink, while everyone else had fun. And to make things worse, when it was over, he'd have to find a way to haul six drunken knights back to their individual chambers. He pouted and looked up at Arthur, only to see his friend's eyes dancing with barely contained laughter.

"Be careful, Merlin, or your face will get stuck that way!" Arthur said gleefully.

"Oh lay off him, Sire," said Lancelot, coming up and laying his hand on Merlin's shoulder, "They're being horrible, Merlin, of course you're coming with, and not to drag us all home."

"Really?!" asked Merlin happily, his pout replaced by a bright smile.

"Alright, alright," said Arthur, smiling back at his servant, "I'm only kidding, Merlin. You may not be a knight, but you've been with us every step of the way, and I _suppose_ that's worth one night off."

Merlin grinned and said, "Thank you, Arthur! Here, let's get you out of your armor so I can get it all polished quickly before it's time to go!"

He ran off toward the castle, beckoning to the prince, who rolled his eyes at the other knights and followed after his servant. When they reached Arthur's chambers, Merlin hurriedly removed all Arthur's armor, setting it on the large table in the middle of the room and hurrying to get the polishing tools from the cupboard.

Laying the box on the table, his eyes flashed gold and several cloths began to buff the armor cheerily in midair. He then rushed off to the corner where the large bathtub sat, pulling it behind the screen before his eyes flashed again and the tub was suddenly filled with steaming water.

"Come on, Arthur, take your bath so we can go!"

"For God's sake, Merlin, lock the door if you're going to do magic. And lest you forget, I _am_ still the prince," said Arthur, sounding playfully indignant, "I believe _I'm_ the one who's supposed to give the orders?"

"Yes, yes, you're the boss of the whole world, now get in the bath, you prat!"

xxxxxx

Ever since learning of Merlin's magic, the prince had gotten into the habit of asking Merlin to dine with him. The knowledge of what Merlin was, and what he had done since coming to Camelot, had shoved them thoroughly out of their previous roles of master and servant, and into the roles they were prophesied to fulfill, those of a beloved king and his most trusted advisor. The master and servant charade had to be maintained, of course, because it was safest for them both, allowing Merlin to keep as close to Arthur as possible, while also avoiding suspicion.

It bothered Arthur to continue treating Merlin like an idiot when other people were around, but they had agreed that, for now, it was necessary. However, since Arthur had always preferred to eat alone in his chambers, mealtimes were the perfect opportunity for them to sit together and talk like friends, and for the prince to seek his warlock's opinions on matters ranging from the protection of Camelot to the terrible haircut Lord Astor had turned up with after his visit to Mercia.

As they ate tonight, Arthur glanced thoughtfully at Merlin, and said, "Do you know, I can't recall ever actually seeing you drunk, now that I think of it."

"And to think you used to always accuse me of lazing around in the tavern," smirked Merlin, "The truth is, I hardly ever drink. Well, I've never had the time, have I? Anyway the few times I have indulged, it hasn't seemed to have much effect."

"Then you haven't been doing it correctly! We'll certainly fix that tonight, after all if any of us _actually_ deserve a night of fun, it's you, Merlin. I wish," he sighed, going a bit melancholy as he did whenever this was brought up, "I wish the others could know. I wish I could give you the recognition you deserve. I hate that they still think of you as a servant. You've earned so much more than I can give you."

"Arthur, don't start that again," Merlin reprimanded, "Anyway Lancelot does know, and Gwaine has never thought of me as your idiot servant. So really it's just the other few that matter, and honestly, it doesn't bother me. I don't _need_ rewards. Are you going to make me say it again?"

"Say what?" Arthur asked slyly. He had heard Merlin's answer to his regrets over and over, but it always made him feel reassured and sort of proud, so he made the warlock repeat himself from time to time.

Merlin rolled his eyes, but said it anyway. "_You_ know, Arthur, and _your_ acceptance, _your_ appreciation, is more important to me than recognition or rewards. Even if the whole kingdom knew about my magic, they would be right to see me as a servant, because I will be yours to command until the day I die. Now for God's sake, finish your dinner so we can go!"

Arthur grinned, stood up, and reached across the table to ruffle his friend's black hair. "I've eaten enough, let's go now. It'd be no good to stuff myself, I'll need the room for mead!"

xxxxxx

Unknown to most patrons of the lower town's bustling tavern, there was a smallish room in the back which was not open to the public. It was rather sparsely furnished, holding nothing but a round wooden table and chairs, which took up most of the room, and a fireplace. The room was rarely used, but it sat there, empty, waiting discreetly for its infrequent patrons. Officially, Arthur's more favored knights could make use of this room, but mostly they preferred the busy main room. It was only on the rare occasions that the prince visited the tavern that the room saw any use whatsoever. It had been a gift from his father, for Arthur's nineteenth birthday.

The room had actually been built for another King of Camelot, long before Uther had conquered the city, and was paid for by the month, from the royal treasury. Men, Uther had told the prince, sometimes needed an opportunity to get away from the pressures and responsibilities of daily life. Royals, however, could not be_ seen_ wanting to escape, and therein lay the purpose of the little back room of the Rising Sun.

Tonight, it had been hastily tidied up after a whispered warning from Gwaine to the barkeep, and a fire was crackling merrily when Arthur and Merlin slipped in the back door, the prince covered by his dusty blue sneaking-around cloak. Gwaine and Elyan were already there, and they were joined shortly by Lancelot, Leon, and Percival. The barmaid hurried in behind them, somehow managing to carry seven tankards and two heavy-looking pitchers of mead. Merlin jumped up to help her, and between the two of them, they got everything onto the table without spilling.

"Thank'ye, Merlin dear," said the barmaid, "I'll come back in a bit to check on you all."

She bowed slightly to Arthur, who smiled at her and nodded, and then bustled off back into the tavern's main room. Merlin grabbed one of the pitchers and filled all the tankards, handing Arthur the first one, and saving his own for last. They all raised their glasses and toasted Camelot, and then the fun began in earnest.

About an hour later, they were all starting to feel the effects of their drinks, and the atmosphere of the gathering had gone from relaxed to rowdy. This could mostly be pinned on Gwaine, who seemed to think that the presence of both Merlin _and_ Arthur in the tavern was something like Christmas. They all joked loudly and poked fun at one another, and everyone was having a good time. As for Merlin, although he _was_ having fun, it was more related to friendship and distinctly unrelated to drunkenness.

He had begun to wonder, when, after three whole tankards of mead, he still wasn't feeling how the knights said he should - dizzy, warm, and loud. He'd never drunk so much at one time, but he barely felt different than he had upon their arrival. This fact had not gone unnoticed by his friends.

"Merlin!" shouted Gwaine, "Are they watering yours down or something? Tiny thing like you, I expected you to be incapacitated already!"

The other knights laughed, and Leon slurred, "We're clearly not doing our jobs, then! This is Merlin's night off, lads, and we're -hic- sworn to help him have a good time!"

"Alright, alright," Arthur proclaimed, "We shall have a tournament! Of mead! A mead tournament! Surely one of my bold knights can drink my manservant under the table!"

There was a round of cheers, and Merlin was sent out to retrieve another couple of pitchers from the barmaid. He returned to cheering, and once everyone's cups were filled again, they started counting each round.

After another three tankards, the exceptionally intoxicated knights were quite taken aback to find that Merlin was barely impaired at all. He _had_ started to feel a _bit_ dizzy, but not even enough to enhance his natural clumsiness as he went into the main room to refill the pitchers again. When he returned, not having spilled a drop, they were all speechless.

In the end, it was Lancelot who figured it out. He hadn't drunk as much as the rest of them, but he was still quite tipsy, and when he leaned over to Merlin, who was sitting between him and Arthur, he leaned rather heavily on the warlock's shoulder.

The others were loudly discussing who was the most skilled with a sword, and no one noticed when Lancelot said in Merlin's ear, "You're cheating!"

Arthur looked up, interested, having heard the whisper, and leaned in, too, wanting to hear.

"Cheating?" asked Merlin, "How on Earth would I do that?"

"Your-" Lancelot lowered his voice even further, "magic."

Stunned realization dawned on both Arthur and Merlin's faces, and Arthur reached up and whacked Merlin playfully around the head.

"Cheating is for cowards, Merlin!" he drawled, checking to see that the others were still distracted, "I -hic- order you to stop it."

"I don't even know how I'm doing it!" protested the warlock, "Though... my magic often heals my minor wounds without me even asking it to, it's possible that it treats alcohol the same way. I mean, it's not very healthy for you, is it? But I can't control it, it's sort of involuntary. Though, I _am_ starting to feel, you know, _something._"

"Then there's a solution for you!" Arthur said triumphantly, "Go find something -hic- stronger than mead! Maybe it won't burn off as quickly."

He shoved a few gold coins at Merlin, and pushed him toward the door again, joining in the swordplay conversation in the meantime.

Merlin was a bit out of his depth, having very little actual experience in the selection of drinks. He approached the bar, and waited for the barmaid to finish serving another group of customers.

Eventually she walked over to him, shaking her head a bit, and said, "Those knights will drink us dry before the sun is up, I'd wager! Another two pitchers for you, Merlin?"

"Er- no. I'm actually wondering, do you have anything, er, stronger? Than the mead?"

"Ahh, that's right, you've got Sir Gwaine back there, the rascal, he could drink an entire barrel of mead and still come out on top of a fight," she chuckled, and Merlin nodded along, unsure of himself. "Here you are then, dear, this'll do him for certain, last time he drank it, someone had to come carry him home!"

Merlin smiled, hoping this would work, and paid for the honey-colored whiskey discreetly with the gold before slipping away back down the hallway. The debate was still going on, and Arthur's voice was audible through the door, saying, "-be so modest, Lancelot, you're nearly a better swordsman than I am!"

Lancelot protested quietly as Merlin re-entered the room, and Elyan shouted out, "Merlin'll settle it! He -hic- often watches us train, he's a - what's it called - objectiserver - ob - objective... ob..server."

"Oh yes, _Mer_lin knows -hic- simply _everything_ there is to know about _swordplay_, Elyan," Arthur said mockingly, "What better judge? I'm -hic- I'm telling you, Lancelot wins the day."

"I assume we're not counting you, Arthur?" asked Merlin, laughing, "As much as I hate to inflate your ego even further, you _are_ the best swordsman in the realm."

"Not counting me, of course, that would be," Arthur stared pointedly at him, "cheating. As I've been -hic- trained by the best my whole life."

"Lancelot, then," Merlin said casually.

"Not fair," pouted Gwaine, "you just like him best!"

"Oh don't whine, Gwaine. Anyway you're all about equally matched, to be honest. There's no clear winner anytime you spar with each other. Thank goodness, too, or training would be superbly boring - for me anyway." Merlin grinned and plunked back down between Lancelot and Arthur, and attempted to return the coins he hadn't used at the bar, but Arthur pushed them back at him and ruffled his hair.

"Well, Mmmmmerlin, did you find something -hic- strong enough to get you drunk?" he asked, grinning widely as the warlock showed him the bottle of golden liquid.

"Apparently," Merlin told him, "It's managed to knock Gwaine on his arse before, so if this doesn't do it, I imagine nothing ever will."

"Merlin! Whatzat?" called Gwaine across the table, staring at the bottle in his hands.

"Not for -hic- you, _Gwaine,_ you'll be killed," said Arthur loudly, "You've already drunk -hic- half the mead in the tavern."

"But so have the rest of us," whined Gwaine, "so who gets the whiskey?"

"It's for Merlin! Since he's -hic- apparently the world's best drinker," said Arthur, "and I'm determined to get him drunk, -hic- and damn the cost!"

Merlin rolled his eyes at them all, and everyone watched as he uncorked the bottle and smelled it warily. The alcohol made his eyes water just from the smell, and he was a bit intimidated by the idea of actually drinking it. Mead was one thing, since it was very sweet, but this was a whole different beast, and Merlin found himself both excited and nervous at the idea that this could get him actually, properly drunk. He glanced over at Arthur, who nodded encouragingly, and shrugged his shoulders, taking a deep breath. He took a tentative sip of the whiskey, which burned in his throat, and made him cough a bit. The knights giggled at him a bit, and he gave them a withering look and took a bigger sip, which went straight to his head, making his vision blur a bit, and his chest felt very warm as he swallowed it down. He blinked a few times, and looked at Arthur again, who was watching him intently.

"W-" he started, and immediately started to cough. When he recovered, he started again. "Wow."

Everyone cheered and went back to their mead, and the night continued, Merlin drinking the whole bottle of whiskey, other than the bit he did share with Gwaine, who was thoroughly impressed by Merlin's drinking capabilities. By the end of the bottle he was, as intended, spectacularly drunk, and for the first time in his life, found himself being dragged back home when the tavern closed. He and Arthur staggered slowly through the streets back up to the castle, Merlin mostly supported by the blue-cloaked prince, until Arthur said enough was enough, and carried him piggy-back the rest of the way. Rather than climbing all the stairs into Gaius's tower, Arthur tossed the warlock onto one side of his own plush bed, pulling his boots off and tossing a blanket over him. The prince ruffled his friend's hair affectionately before kicking off his own boots and collapsing drunkenly on the other side of the bed.

"Glad you -hic- had some fun, Merlin," said the prince, drifting off to sleep. Merlin mumbled, half asleep, and curled up tightly under the soft blankets.

xxxxxx

The next morning, Arthur awoke with a pounding headache, dry throat, and burning eyes. He groaned and opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see Merlin still passed out on the other side of the bed. He could only imagine how hung over the warlock would be, if his own state was any indicator. Merlin had finished the night far drunker than anyone else, to the delight of the entire party, and was certain to be nearly incapacitated today.

Only he wasn't.

The warlock in question was bustling around the room, kindling the fire and tidying up. A steaming breakfast tray was already sat on the table with two plates, and Arthur watched in horror as Merlin flung open the blinds and allowed the bright sun to filter into the room from the windows.

"God, Merlin, shut those!" complained the prince, covering his eyes and wincing at the volume of his own voice.

"Good morning to you, too," grinned Merlin, apparently unaware of how loud and bright he'd made the room, and the prince's discomfort.

"No, I'm serious, shut that. And for the love of Camelot keep your voice down."

"Ooh, right, sorry," said Merlin, more quietly, as he closed the curtains.

"Aren't you... you're... Merlin," spluttered Arthur, "I mean to say... why on Earth aren't you miserable!?"

Merlin beamed at him, and went to sit down at the table, uncovering the breakfast tray as Arthur hauled himself out of bed and stumbled over to join him.

"Apparently," he said, a bit too smugly for Arthur's taste, "my magic has burnt off all traces of the alcohol and its effects. Probably within about an hour of when we left the tavern. I've already been to ask Gaius about it, he said people with magic always have a harder time of getting drunk, and with magic as powerful as mine, it's a wonder I managed it at all."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin, who chucked at him and started dishing up a plate of sausages, fruits, and bread, handing it to the prince before filling his own.

"He's also given me a lecture about the dangers of public drunkenness, allowing myself to be compromised and leaving you vulnerable to attacks, a host of diseases that can be caught in taverns, what happens to people who find themselves addicted to drink, and Gwaine. That eyebrow," he said, shuddering a bit, and then making a face at Arthur when he laughed, "Don't think you're so great, he's got one for you, too, I'm surprised he hasn't been here already."

Immediately after the words left his mouth, there was a knock at the door, and Gaius' voice outside, speaking in a tone that assured them of a scolding that would take up the entire morning.

"Bloody damn warlock," muttered the prince, laying his head on the table, "You _had_ to tell him. My head hurts too badly for lectures so early in the morning."

"Bloody damn warlock, is it?" asked Merlin, grinning widely as he got up to answer the door, still holding his full plate. Just before he opened it to allow Gaius and his eyebrow in, he spun around to face Arthur, eyes burning gold. The prince relaxed as he felt the sore throat, the scratchy eyes, and the headache dissipate, leaving him feeling better than he usually did on a _normal_ morning.

He returned the grin, and Merlin turned back around to allow Gaius into the room, looking good-naturedly reproachful, eyebrow nearly disappearing into his hairline.

"Good morning, Sire!" the physician nearly shouted at him, expecting a wince or groan from the prince. He frowned upon seeing Arthur sitting casually at the table, tucking into his breakfast, and smiling politely.

"Merlin!" he scolded, but the warlock had ducked out through the door and was already halfway down the hall, laughing joyously on his way to find Lancelot, the prince's laughter echoing after him.


End file.
